Tuck Read Online Free

will be help enough.”
    Bran hurried away to join the archers, and Will turned to the worried young monk behind him. “Come along, Odo,” he said. “Follow Noín and help her see to the old woman and her horse, and look sharp, unless you want Abbot Hugo to get his hands on you again.”
    They hurried to join the others in the hollow, and Tuck gathered the rest. “This way!” he called, and led his crew of seven unarmed warriors to a small glade midway between the archers and the hollow where the rest of the Grellon had found their hiding places. “We will stand here,” he told them. Then, raising his stubby oak branch lengthwise, he held it high, saying, “Get one of these to hand quick as you can, and hurry back. We’ll make ourselves scarce behind the trees there, and there”—he pointed out the nearby boles of massive oaks—“and over there. If any Ffreinc get past Bran and the others we’ll do for ’em.”
    The last words were still hanging in the air when there came a cry from the edge of the wood where Bran and the bowmen were waiting. As the shout echoed through the grove, they heard the fizzing whir of an arrow as it sped from the string. Almost instantly, there followed a short, sharp scream and a crash. A heartbeat later, a rider-less horse careered into the wood.
    “Bless me,” remarked Tuck. Turning to his company, he said, “Get some wood in your hands, lads, and make a good account of yourselves. Go!”
    As the forest-dwellers scattered, two knights burst into the grove in full gallop. One of them had an arrow sticking out of his shield, and the other had a shaft buried deep in his thigh. Both turned their horses and prepared to attack the archers from behind. But even as the great steeds slowed and came around, the soldiers seemed to crumple upon themselves; their weapons fell from slack hands, and both plunged from the saddle with arrows jutting from their backs like feathered quills.
    Tuck heard a call from beyond the grove, and suddenly the attack was finished. They waited a few moments, and when no other riders appeared, the Grellon darted out to retrieve the arrows, pulling them from the dead knights.
    “Here,” said Tuck, gathering the shafts, “I’ll take those. The rest of you get back out of sight.”
    The friar quickly made his way to the edge of the grove, where the archers were hidden amongst the trees. He hurried to the first one he saw.
    “Siarles,” he called softly. “What’s happened? Have we turned them away?”
    “No, Brother,” replied the forester. “They’re down the valley.” He pointed down the slope, where a body of knights was milling about on horseback. “They’re just regrouping. They’ll charge again when they get their courage banked up.” He cast a glance behind him into the grove. “The two that broke through—what of them?”
    “Dead, I think. Or as good as.” He handed over the retrieved arrows.
    “That makes three, then,” said Siarles, sticking the shafts in the soft earth at his feet.
    “God with you,” Tuck said, “and with your bow.” He made a hasty sign of the cross and hurried back to his place behind the tree to await the next attack. In a little while he heard the hard drumming of horses’ hooves. The sound grew, and when it seemed the riders must be on top of them, he heard the thin, singing whine of arrows streaking to their marks—followed by the awful clatter of horses and heavily armoured men crashing to earth.
    The second attack faltered and broke off as quickly as the first, and for a moment all was quiet in the grove again, save for the agonized whinny of a dying horse. Again, Tuck waited a little space, and when nothing else seemed about to happen, out he crept and ran to speak to Siarles.
    “Is that the last of them?”
    “Maybe.” Siarles gestured with his bow toward the valley. “They’ve gone away again, but I can’t see what they’re up to this time.”
    “Pray they’ve had enough and decided to go